


Turn The Page

by Desdimonda



Category: Naruto, Naruto Shippuden
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anbu Uchiha Itachi, Artist Itachi, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Uchiha Massacre, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uchiha Itachi Lives, Uchiha Itachi-centric, Uchiha Shisui Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: There's always been Shisui where there's been Itachi. Neither could imagine life without the other for the last fifteen years. Through school, missions, ANBU, pain and joy. But now their lives have taken a new path - a path that's splitting in two; a path that's separating the team they've always been.But is it really their new path, or is it what has been lying beneath, unsaid, yearning and afraid, when the heart's love blurred from friend, to more?--------An illustrated gift fic for @lazy-uchiha-potato on tumblr for the Shiita 2018 Secret Santa!





	Turn The Page

Blades of grass fell from Shisui’s hand that he held high in-front of the moon. He watched the trickle of green fall slow, dappling his top in an earthy shower, before a gentle lick of wind caught the blades in a curl, carrying them away, away.

He dropped his hand back onto the grass with a thud and closed his eyes, breathing in the rich green smell of the field , of the blossoms that had begun to fall in a coil of breeze, and the familiar scent of coconut that draped Itachi like a shawl. He knew he used it in his hair to keep it so sleek and - if he remembered right from last touch - soft. His eyes glowed red and he smiled, twisting his fingers through the blades of grass again.

He had remembered right.

Itachi glanced to his right, pencil poised. “What are you revisiting?”

The red faded and Shisui’s eyes returned to black. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Well,” said Itachi, pressing pencil to paper again. “I did ask.”

Their headbands and vests sat at their side, guards down. It was safe here. No-one cared about two off-duty ninjas sitting between the trees at the edge of the village. They hoped. No-one ever had, and the two Uchiha had come here since Itachi was five. It was a home no-one else tread but them.

“You’re twenty-one soon, aren’t you?” said Shisui, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Shreds of grass fell onto his lap.

“Fifteen years of knowing me and you still haven’t figured out that I don’t care about my birthday?” laughed Itachi as he pushed back a lock of hair that fell forward, the ends brushing against his sketchbook.

“You might not, but I do. Sasuke too. There are others outside your bubble, surprisingly.” Shisui leaned forward and picked at the grass more, kicking off his sandals. “And your students. I heard them whispering about what to get you.”

“Tell them nothing.” Itachi closed over his sketchbook, pencil holding the place as he pulled free his hair, letting the long strands fall down his back. Stiff fingers stretched over his head and through his hair, easing out the knots.

Shisui watched, side eyed, mesmerised.

Did he know that?

Did he know the way he moved was inlaid within Shisui’s eyes a thousand different ways - the way he smiled, even more?

Did he know that there was no memory kinder, brighter, happier, than the memory of him?

“They’ll still get you something.” Shisui pulled out another handful of grass, a clump of earth coming free this time, covering his legs and chest in a spray of soil. He frowned. “Can I borrow one of your eyes for an Izanagi?”

Itachi laughed as Shisui wiped off the soil that covered him, his hands staining green and brown. He was a mess, covered in grass and mud, and his attempts to clean it off were just making it worse. But it didn’t matter when he looked up and saw his smile.

Did he know that?

“What are _you_ revisiting?” he asked when he saw the bright red shining beneath Itachi’s hair.

“Nothing. Just making sure I don’t forget this,” he said, his words still staggered with a laugh.

“This?” Shisui gestured with a muddy hand, making a disgruntled face. “Don’t-” He reached out and then paused, hand hovering in the air. “Don’t waste your sight on me.”

“Nothing is wasted on you,” said Itachi quietly, before he dipped his head and turned away, the red of his eyes fading as he opened his sketchbook and pushed pencil to paper again, his thick black hair obscuring his face.

Shisui’s hand fell, slowly.

 

 

> _“Itachi! You don’t have enough chakra to maintain it - stop!”_
> 
> _“I can - I can do it.”_
> 
> _Shisui, several feet above in the trees watched his best friend stand before several enemies and refuse to pull his blade, a kunai, or spill a drop of blood. Despite the mask he adorned, the mark that was etched into his skin, the oath he swore, the moniker he carried all beneath the ANBU, he would do all he could to not kill._
> 
> _That was his own oath. His own mission. His own justice in a world that took life for life; eye for eye; blood for blood._
> 
> _With his heart, Shisui agreed. With his head, he knew that they had to stay alive too._
> 
> _He walked in Itachi’s steps, taking the non-lethal option wherever and whenever possible. Their blades barely wept blood, but their eyes did._
> 
> _Itachi wove a powerful genjutsu over the several eyes that stared through the leaves, motionless, caught within his trap. It was too much. Shisui could barely see the colour of his chakra anymore there was so little left. The last threads of it moved wildly behind his eyes. The right was closed, the left only open, where the spiral of his Mangekyo crowned a thin line of blood._
> 
> _The branch beneath Shisui hissed as he dropped down, stowing away his blade as he watched Itachi, beautiful, important Itachi, risk his own life so he didn’t have to take one. Shisui lifted his head, hearing movement before them. Itachi was losing his hold and the enemy were breaking free._
> 
> _“We’re done here.” Shisui commanded._
> 
> _“No!”_
> 
> _“Yes.” Shisui flickered to Itachi’s side just as he lost control. Half of their enemy fell, comatose, bodies sagging across branches or simply crashing through the trees, breaking dignity and bones as they fell to the forest floor. The other half surged forward towards the two Konoha ANBU, several kunai and shuriken flying their way, sinking into the trees around them already. They were still disorientated. But it wouldn’t last._
> 
> _“Backup will be here-”_
> 
> _Shisui’s arms clutched Itachi tightly, fingers biting into his back as he pulled on the very last of his chakra. “And we’ll be dead.”_
> 
> _“You could take the remaining out. Don’t waste your chakra on me,” breathed Itachi as he dismissed his Mangekyo, the red fading to black._
> 
> _“We’re a team.” Flickering away once, twice, several times more, having to move in short but rapid bursts from his exhaustion, he just smiled beneath his mask, thumbing the ends of Itachi’s hair. “And nothing is wasted on you.”_

He hadn’t needed his Sharingan to recall that memory, it had come back to him as clear and real as if he walked it now. He could smell the same air of the forest as he’d blinked them through to safety, almost missing his footing more than once. He’d had to steady them both against the trunk of a tree, Itachi still in his arms, the clink of their masks sharp as they hit together.

They’d stood like that for longer than he needed as he listened to Itachi breathe, eye to eye, toe to toe. He’d opened his mouth to speak and lifted his hand to move his mask. But he did neither, and just blinked away, away.

Several more blades of grass fell through his fingers as he pulled roughly at the earth again. There had been ten years of friendship then which he was tempted to risk and probably ruin. Now there were fifteen.

“If you keep ripping up the grass I’m going to have to plant new seeds,” said Itachi, side eyeing Shisui as he tucked a long lock of hair behind his ear.

“Sure.” He ripped up another handful of grass, staring at the green stains on his hands.

Itachi frowned and set the sketchbook onto his lap, open, the near full pages on view. He reached out and flicked some of Shisui’s unruly curls to catch his attention. Shisui shrugged him off with a scowl.

“Can I help you?”

“Something’s on your mind. You’re quiet, revisiting, ripping up the grass which you only do when anxious.” He paused, staring at Shisui’s restless hands. “Talk to me, Shisui.”

He scratched at the mud on his top. “Do you regret leaving ANBU?”

Tapping his pencil on his thigh, Itachi knew the question wasn’t for him. He looked ahead at the village, basked in the bright moonlight and the swathe of stars its partner. One was never without the other, their beauty and power magnified by one another's existence. Even when the moon was dampened by the clouds, hidden beneath the suffocating grey, they were always there. Together.

The pencil flicked between his fingers. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, Shisui waiting for his answer to justify the restlessness and doubt. At least that’s what Itachi could read. The life of a menial jounin...wasn’t enough.

He hadn’t offered to take up the mantle of sensei yet. Itachi knew he held back because if he did, it would make this world permanent. A foot forward, so he couldn’t take anymore back.

They’d argued one night about it - or more specifically - responsibility. Itachi couldn’t understand how he now feared it, for in ANBU surely they had shouldered _more?_ It had been dirty work, dangerous work, and the safety of the village echoed in their every step.

 

 

> _“Get your head out your ass, Itachi.” Shisui threw another kunai at the wall, piercing the centre of a knot, beautifully, despite the six beers he’d had._
> 
> _“I fail to see what getting my head out of my ass does for this conversation-”_
> 
> _Shisui began to argue back but Itachi raised his voice and hand. Another kunai sank into the wall._
> 
> _“And, it’s not even up my ass. It’s perfectly level, thank you.”_
> 
> _“Kill me,” whispered Shisui as he flopped forward onto the table, knocking over several empty beer bottles._
> 
> _“You led a high level ANBU team that took on the most dangerous missions I’ve done, and now you’re a village jounin, set to take on a genin team but you won’t because of the responsibility.” He put emphasis on the last word and sat on the table next to Shisui’s sprawled arms._
> 
> _There was no jibe. No witty or offensive response. He just kept his face to the table, arms splayed._
> 
> _Itachi frowned, wondering if he’d passed out._
> 
> _“Shisui?” Nothing._
> 
> _He ruffled his thick curls, easing out a knot gently. He needed it cut. He always needed it cut. “I know you’re awake. I’m meeting my students tomorrow and everyone keeps asking me where you are.”_
> 
> _Nothing. Nothing but a hand on his, silently holding it within his hair, fingers twisting together._
> 
> _“Leave it.”_
> 
> _He did._

He’d left it since that night. Shisui still brought up their change in profession occasionally like now, but it was brief, guarded, and never again like that night.

Itachi didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid to push and hear the truth. He trusted Shisui more than anyone, but that was why he was afraid - afraid to hear that which he couldn’t see.

The words sat on his tongue ready, rehearsed, their script a silent collaboration. But the words that came, were new.

“Are you asking me if I regret leaving ANBU,” he said, pressing the end of his pencil against his thigh. “Or yourself?”

Shisui looked down, staring at his hands, covered in mud. They used to be covered in blood. “Took you long enough,” he said with a sad smile.

“You told me to leave it. So I did.”

“Yeah well. I say a lot of things.”

The lead of Itachi’s pencil snapped against his thigh. He placed it gently on his sketchbook. “Get to the point of this. It’s late.”

Shisui’s eyes flashed red as he felt both a twist of anger and fear in his gut, a swell of bitter, biting words ready to be unleashed at Itachi and his temperament. Turning swiftly to face him, Shisui’s words completely failed him because his crimson eyes picked up something else first. On the sketchbook in his lap he saw his face; he saw his eyes, black and red; his wild, unruly curls; his long gangly limbs sticking out elegantly as he trained; he saw the way he tucked one leg under the other when he sat; he saw his smile; his laughter and his lines.

“What…” He reached out, too quick for Itachi to react and understand what he was doing, and took the sketchbook from his lap. He stood when he saw Itachi scramble to take it back, the pencil falling to the grass, getting lost in the blades.

“Shisui-that’s-”

Shisui flickered several feet away behind Itachi. “It’s me.”

Itachi said nothing and just stared ahead, the gentle breeze catching his long hair.

“It’s...it’s full of,” he turned a page, and another. “Me.” The book began with their last days as ANBU, their masks side by side, their weapons too. There were sketches of him lying here in the grass, talking, sleeping; there were images of their first days as simple jounin, accompanied by the architecture of the village. There were memories, from the beginning in the forest as kids, to graduation to beyond; to missions, to meals; to moments and minutes that sat behind his eyes.

But at the centre of it all, was _him._

Shisui touched one of the sketches, just a simple one of his face, with a bright, beautiful smile he hadn’t felt in a while. None of this was drawn out of boredom or curiosity.

This - this was _love._

“Is this how you see me?”

“I-I’m sorry. I should have asked to draw you-”

Shisui flickered back another few feet, watching Itachi warily, his red eyes wide. Itachi clutched his own arm, his Sharingan bright beneath his hair.

“Answer me.”

Itachi breathed in sharply, basked in the bluey moonlight as his hair painted him in black ink. His eyes were wet, the tears sticking together in his long lashes. Itachi rarely cried. Shisui was sure he was the only one who’d felt his tears. Itachi wiped them away silently, quickly, the red of his Sharingan yet persisting.

He didn’t want to forget.

Itachi looked up. “It’s how I’ve always seen you.”

It was words he’d always wanted to hear, but now that he did, he just stood, staring at the sketchbook, trying to count the beats of his heart.

“I don’t regret leaving ANBU,” he said, suddenly, the words falling fast, almost breathless. “I regret our lives moving forward, changing, apart, without ever telling you how _I see you.”_

The sketchbook slipped from his hands to the grass as he flickered forward, the book landing open on a page of them sharing a stick of dango by the lake.

Shisui stood so close to Itachi he could feel his breath, staggered by his tears, by Shisui’s words, by his presence - familiar, but _new._

A sharp lick of wind caught Itachi’s hair, masking his face as he tilted it back to look up at Shisui. He’d always had the height. The smile. The laughter. The confidence. The ease. He’d had it all. There’d been envy, of course. How couldn’t there be? Shisui was nearly everything Itachi wanted to be. That in part was why he’d said nothing, keeping the love in his heart restrained and mute. He’d thought for the longest time that his feelings were just admiration and simple _want._

Want, on its own, wasn’t a sin. But was it worth more than over a decade of friendship? He knew he made  excuse after excuse to mask his fear - a fear of honesty that just grew in tandem with his love.

The sketchbook had become his confession, every truth woven into each line and stroke, from heart to paper, again, and again.

He was going to give it to Shisui - one day - hoping he could see the words he couldn’t speak. He’d been clumsy and left it open and free for Shisui to see. Or maybe it hadn’t really been a mistake, his subconscious self letting him know that one day, was now.

But one thing was clear, Shisui had seen his confession; he’d read his truths; he’d seen _it all._

Shisui pulled back Itachi’s hair, his muddy fingers tapping against his face lightly. His fingers were cold, like always. “When you said you wanted to leave ANBU, I was coming too. No doubt, no question.” He wiped away a fresh fall of silent tears from his cheeks. “We’re a team. From day one.”

“Then why aren’t we now? Why are you letting me step forward while you stand still?” Itachi gripped Shisui’s arms, restless fingers sliding up and down the bare skin as he talked, echoing his fragmented, patchy words.

It took a moment for Shisui to find his voice. In that moment he leaned forward, touching forehead to forehead, his hands slipping around Itachi's neck as he cradled his head, thumbs drawing slowly up and down his throat, feeling the intensity of his heartbeat push against his skin. Shisui breathed in, and out. Itachi’s damp lashes glanced his cheeks - cold, wordless whispers. “I don’t want to go forward unless-” He paused, thumbs feeling the slide of his jaw as his hands circled his neck, feeling, kneading, knowing. Their noses touched. Their lips, nearly. “Unless I’m yours.”

Hip touched hip as Itachi sank his hands into Shisui’s curls. He knew how they felt, but somehow, it was all new. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shisui smirked. “Why didn’t you tell _me?”_

Painted nails dragged against Shisui’s scalp, lightly. “Fifteen years of friendship. With a kiss, with -” Itachi faltered, “with a... night? - all of that _changes._ We change.”

“That isn’t always bad.”

“What if this time it is.”

Shisui took that final step, body to body, breath to breath. “You think too much,” he said, tilting Itachi’s head up with his cradled hands.

“You don’t think enough,” he whispered, Shisui’s thumb dragging along his bottom lip.

“That’s because sometimes it’s best to just _do_.”

And with a smile, he kissed him, muddy fingers sliding against pristine skin. He felt Itachi’s nails drag down his arms, clutching tightly as the intensity of their kiss made him stagger, a foot slipping behind his leg as toes curled into the grass. Shisui’s hand found Itachi’s back, bare fingers splaying across the curve as he dipped him, just a little, just enough, to feel the swathe of his ebony hair spread over his arm like the stretch of a wing.

Shisui had imagined dipping Itachi in those thousand times he’d fantasised about their first kiss. So he did. And through their kiss, he couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed softly at first, holding their kiss, fingers twisting through his long hair as if he tried to count every strand. Then he laughed so much, all he could do was hold him. He could feel Itachi tense, his delicate touch frozen, his eyes wide, his lips near trembling as Shisui’s bright, loud laugh filled the clearing like a song.

“What’s so funny?” whispered Itachi, his fingers pressing so hard into Shisui’s arm the skin was white. “Did I kiss...wrong?”

Shisui laughed even louder.

“Shisui-!” pressed Itachi, unable to deny the beauty his laugh gave his smile.

“Did I kiss wrong? Do you even hear yourself,” jested Shisui before he caught Itachi in another kiss, playfully biting his lower lip. “I’m laughing because - because everything - this, me, you - is just how I imagined. And wanted. I even _dipped_ you!”

Itachi frowned, but nuzzled against Shisui as he talked, cheek to cheek. Now that they had kissed, even a breath of air between them felt like too much.

“And even though now things are going to change...” he mused, kisses trailing along the slide of Itachi’s jaw, to his neck, his teeth nicking the skin. Then trailing his mouth back up to brush against Itachi’s ear, speaking in a breathy whisper as he guided him towards a tree, bare feet tumbling together in the grass: “I know that _we_ won’t _.”_

As Itachi’s body met bark, he tilted back his head, sadly. He traced a finger down Shisui’s nose, feeling the small bump.

“I should have trusted us….long ago.” He could barely breathe from the beat of his heart caught in his throat, making his hands tremble and his voice, break. “So much time lost - _wasted._ ”

It was always like Itachi to do this - to want to shoulder the weight of a responsibility that wasn’t solely his. And even when the promise of love stood before him, arms wide and wanting, he found some way to find himself unworthy. But Shisui had never known anyone more worthy of these lips, these hands, this heart.

He leaned down to kiss, but paused a breath apart, the words ghosting against Itachi’s lips as Shisui spoke.

“ _Nothing_ , is wasted on you.”


End file.
